


Hidden Meanings

by hirohamadugh



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AZIRAPHALE PINES MORE THAN A FOREST OF PINUS PALUSTRUS, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Crowley is soft for kids, Florist Aziraphale, Fluff, I mean the LAST MINUTE, M/M, Not Beta Read, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, aziraphale based pov, aziraphale pines, aziraphale spelled aziraphael, aziraphale yearns, can i get uhhhh wrote this at the last minute, gomensficweek2019, i mean publishing this at 11:35PM the day of the prompt, not a plot point but will always be in my fics, nothing more than kissing here, tattoo artist crowley, tender moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirohamadugh/pseuds/hirohamadugh
Summary: Aziraphael has a bad habit: a he-keeps-putting-permanent-things-on-his-body-as-an-excuse-to-see-his-tattoo-artist kind of bad habit. And he's running out of skin to do it on.





	Hidden Meanings

Aziraphael deeply resisted the familiar urge to itch at his forearm, choosing instead to busy his fingers with snipping off thorns of each rose in his latest delivery. Heaven forbid any of his truly beloved customers _hurt_ themselves because of his arrangements- no, he think he’d much rather vanish into nothingness before even _thinking_ about the embarrassment and remorse he would carry the rest of his life.

Despite how generous and down to earth he may appear, Aziraphael had an almost shameful affection for beautiful things- materialistic, even. Indulgent. Gluttonous for physical pleasures such as flowers, paintings, embroideries, all kinds of art.

Even those on skin. Perhaps _especially _those works of art that manifested themselves on living human bodies as a canvas- those may have been the most breathtaking of all. Or, perhaps it was the creator who was, and this fact merely seeped its way into affecting Aziraphael’s opinion on the matter as a whole.

Pinkening at the thought, Aziraphael huffed in grandiose denial, quickly shaking the idea from his head. The itch seethed, begging for attention, but the florist didn’t dare fall into that temptation. He didn’t dare sully the magnificent designs beneath it, the masterpiece placed there by the only person the blond man would ever trust with such permanent consequence on his own life- his neighbor.

Delicately placing the shears down on the worktable, the plump man dared to steal a gaze over at the wall that conjoined the two establishments with a bit of hopefulness sneaking its way into his pale blue eyes, allowing himself just this one moment in reverie. Then he’d be back to work. Surely.

Allowing long eyelashes to flutter his vision away, Aziraphael blissfully lost himself in the past 9 months, deliberately reviewing every interaction and appointment like a smooth stone in his hands, twisting it over and over and running his fingers along the memories and relishing in each and every one before moving on to the next. He could practically feel his works rack up as he progressed in the timeline, inching closer and closer to the present, moving further and further down his left arm, which was now covered nearly to its full extent in dazzling colors and etchings of ink, all from the same artist. An almost entire sleeve of pining. Aziraphael found shame in his habits, knowing damn well that each and every one of those beautiful pieces were no more than a shallow excuse to spend an hour or two feeling the gifts of his beloved’s full attention, concentration, and passion, all just for him. His feather soft grip, despite being through the glove (which Aziraphael couldn’t argue with, as it was per the required sanitary codes), draped across Aziraphael’s forearm and wrist, inching its way closer and closer to his own hand the further down the arm he drew. He was utterly, completely, entirely ashamed of it, knowing if **_Temptations Tattoos & Piercings_** had never opened, Aziraphael’s skin would’ve never been even so much as breathed on by a needle. And now, here he was, about 8 different pieces and counting. It was irresistible- he simply couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Pushing down on the pump of specifically-for-tattoo-healing moisturizer he kept on his personal desk, Aziraphael delicately smothered away the itching sensation of his latest design; it was a few weeks old at this point, but ever-healing. He had become somewhat of a master in what soaps to use when, when to change bandages, how long to stay out of water, and how long to expect ink bleeding, but was _never_ above pretending he was unsure and just _having_ to pop next door to ask.

A blaring noise startled the man, and enraptured his attention as he scrambled for his mobile device to cease the noise. _Finally!_ His heart pleaded as it did somersaults in his chest, _4:00!! It’s finally 4:00!! Your appointment!! Your APPOINTMENT!!_

Breathing a shuttered breath in attempt to calm the electric nerves that were joining his cardiovascular excitement, Aziraphael fluttered a hand over his chest, hastening to flip the OPEN sign on the glass front door to CLOSED, early for today, but it was a special occasion. He was seeing his dear Anthony, he had a 4:15 appointment at **Temptations**, for what would be the last piece of his sleeve, finally covering his entire left arm, from shoulder to wrist. The spot almost looked hollow now, just asking to be filled and completed, but for once, Aziraphael had hesitated to book the appointment for it. It would be the end of his excuses to see Anthony, the end of this small internal affair, almost like the conclusion of a chapter. Of course, the man would still be right next door, but oh, Aziraphael just doubted his ability to reach out. He was a worrywart, and God forbid he be bothering the poor beautiful man- no, this was why he only reached out for appointment-related things. He doesn’t know what he would do with himself after having faced that rejection- what he’d do with all the works of one-sided love stuck with him forever, laughing and mocking should Anthony not harbor the same for him.

Snapping shut his withering jaw, Aziraphael reached for the shears once more, twisting and winding through the rows of greenery until he found the absolute perfect flower, the one that would be immortalized on his wrist forever, perfectly as he imagined it.

You see, each of these additions were the same- every month or so, Aziraphael would bring a small bundle of flowers to his consultation session, then once more the day of for reference. Partially to give Anthony some ideas of what he wanted, partially just for the thrill of giving Anthony flowers. His entire sleeve was just that- a beautiful bouquet, encompassing his full arm’s length. Anthony always insisted he could do more in a sitting, two, three flowers even, save him some money and time spent taking meticulous aftercare of the works- but Aziraphael was far too greedy. More done in one sitting meant less sittings. So, they settled on one flower per appointment, once a month, blaming it on the blond’s poor stamina when it came to pain tolerance. As if he could be even bothered to feel any when his beautiful, kind, caring, passionate artist was creating something so awe-inspiring on his very own skin.

Snipping the perfect floret from its brothers, he held the petals to the light, examining them. A beautiful blue where the bud met the stem, blossoming outwards into a soft purple hue, littered with navy veins that reminded the pinkest outer-tips of the roots they’d come from. Smiling in a bittersweet manner, Aziraphael cradled it in his plush fingers, deciding that yes, this would do just nicely.

Meticulously hanging his shop apron on the rack by the door, Aziraphael locked up the shop and walked the all 20 feet it was to the dark tainted glass door to his right, happily figuring the few minutes early he was meant a few extra minutes with his dear beloved.

The stocky man pulled the door open, immediately peering around to the station that was decorated to the nines with Anthony’s flash and other artworks. He went to the empty reception desk and signed himself in for his appointment before settling into one of the waiting chairs- not the closest one to the half wall separating he and Anthony’s work station, that would be too obvious. Second closest chair would do just nicely.

Stealing a look over the wall, he could see that smear of bright red hair he so dearly adored, tied up in a low bun as he leaned over his current customer. It took only moments for Aziraphael to realize the one in the chair was a little girl no older than 4, and Anthony was doing her first ear piercing.

“Alright, you ready for the super cold now?!” Anthony’s voice was animated and exciting, and Aziraphael had to tear his eyes away when he saw the man pretend to shiver, entertaining the little girl so she wasn’t so scared and earning a small grateful laugh from her mothers. “Oooh, it’s a _really_ cold one this time, I can feel it!! Here it cooomes!”

The lanky man made a crashing noise as he careened his hand down to wipe the antiseptic onto the little girl’s ear lobe to disinfect it, earning a tiny enthralled squeal from the girl from behind her lollipop. “It _is_ cold!” she exclaimed when he tossed the wipe back onto his tray, and the man put his hands on his hips in the most sterile way possible.

“Well it was, wasn’t it! And you took it like a champ, ooh, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to handle it!!” Anthony pulled a thin marker from his tray, drawing a small purple smiley face on his own arm to show her it was alright. “I’m gonna make a teeny tiny dot on your ear, see? It’ll be purple, just like your lolly! Is that ok?”

The young girl nodded, and Anthony brushed back a tiny ringlet to place the marking on her lobe. He then turned to the two women who’d brought her in with a wide toothy smile, asking for their review of his work, using the names he’d heard his client call them when they first came in. “Momma, Mommy? What do we think?”

The two mothers agreed that the placing was just fine, and Anthony gasped and turned back to the child. “They think its perfect!! You’re doing so good, you’re such a cool kid, anyone ever tell you that?!”

Aziraphael smiled to himself, twirling the small clutch of three delicate flowers in his fingers. He forced himself not to watch any longer in fear of being caught, but was _delighted _to continue listening in.

“Alright kiddo, now I’m gonna grab onto your ear with this, look, it looks like an alligator! _Chomp chomp chomp!_” Anthony snapped the alignment scissor-like tool and earned a giggle from the little girl, and Aziraphael could _swear_ he heard one from Anthony as well in response. “You ready? We’re gonna take a deep breath, do it with me, in,” he sucked air dramatically into his lungs, “and out!” and exhaled just as loudly. “Okay? Let’s hold Mommy’s hand, you’re gonna feel a pinch- in,” he gripped onto the girl’s earlobe, positioning the needle, “and out, just like that, yeah you’re doing so good!” As the girl breathed Anthony swiftly inserted the needle through her lobe, a wide grin on his face as she showed no signs of even realizing it. “All done!! Look ‘t you! You’re a champ! You’re the bravest kid I know, you did so good!”

He did the same for her other ear, showering excited praises all along the way. It too, went without a hitch-unless you counted the one in Aziraphael’s breath as he realized just how much _deeper_ in love with this man he fell.

Once the family had paid, gotten their care instructions and said their goodbyes (the little girl’s being a hug, of course), Anthony called out an “Oi!” to Aziraphael in greeting, and he never knew two letters could make his heart flutter so much. The redhead was beaming, still shining in how well the piercing had went, holding out a now-bare hand, as he _always_ switched gloves between clients. “Sweet pea?”

Aziraphael opened his mouth to reply something along the lines of “Yes, Darling?” Before realizing he meant the _flower. The flower Aziraphael was holding, the flower they’d agreed upon in their consultation, the one he had brought, like he always did, for Anthony to know what exact color scheme he wanted for his newest art._ He bit his tongue, feeling the blood rush through his traitorous cheeks as he handed it over. The floret was so delicate, so small, that their fingertips simply _had_ to skim against each other just for him to pass it off. It did nothing to lessen the color on Aziraphael’s face.

“Perfect,” Anthony breathed, mulling it over in his beautifully slender fingers. “It’s gorgeous, you know, as usual. You truly have an eye for these things, ‘Zira.”

Aziraphael was certain his chest would implode and promptly crumple up onto the floor right there on the spot, just as it always did when his dear friend called him by the nickname. They’d spent too much time together, talking through each and every consultation and session, to be considered anything less.

The blond smiled softly in thanks, not _daring_ to let his voice out to play in fear it would say something he couldn’t take back. He allowed the thin man to lead him around the half wall and into his chair, still the tiniest bit damp from the wipe-down he had done after the little girl had gotten up. Aziraphael sunk into it comfortably, pushing his already-rolled-up sleeve even further up his bicep to ensure it wouldn’t hinder Anthony, even though he was only working on his wrist by now. The redhaired man pulled his hair tie out and bit it between his teeth as he swept back his hair into a new bun, jutting his chin out at the florist’s arm and speaking in a muffled way. “’ts healin’ nicely, good ta see y’ must be takin good care of it!”

Aziraphael puffed his chest out at the praise, entire body warming in a heavenly way. “Of course, dear. I want its beauty to be just as you envisioned it for all of my days.”

Anthony grinned a sly grin, snapping new gloves on once more and careening in his rolling stool over to his palette of inks, plucking the sweet pea out of where he’d tucked it into his breast pocket to examine it once more. Once he’d selected the colors he thought went together and matched the petals the most, he carefully transferred them into little wells on his work desk and flicked on the overhead lamp so he could get a true representation of what he was doing. “Been good since last week when I saw you for consultation? Had a couple in here wanting to get each other’s name for their anniversary, so I turned them down and sent them your way instead, hope you don’t mind.”

Aziraphael beamed as he felt his eyebrows scrunch together, knowing that Anthony had thought of him during their time apart. “They bought the most expensive rose bouquet,” he assured the redhead, right hand dancing across his own heart to try and settle it. “Some rich chocolates from my commissioner, as well.”

Anthony beamed, taking Aziraphael’s wrist and twisting it softly, disinfecting and perfectly laying down the parchment outline he’d sketched in that last section of empty skin. He placed his hand over the damp cloth and took the moment to look up at the blond, and it was all the poor florist could do to not die right there on the spot. Anthony’s eyes were the most beautiful share of light brown, flecked with gold in fat splotches that haloed his pitch black pupils. Aziraphael swore he could get lost in them forever, and this may be the last time he had the opportunity to.

Before he gathered the courage to say something, Anthony broke the moment, peeling back the paper and leaving the purple outline behind on Aziraphael’s skin. “And there she is,” Anthony said softly, admiring his own work for a moment. “The last piece to the puzzle.”

He spun around and turned on the gun, kicking the foot pedal over to where he could utilize it by Aziraphael’s chair. Dipping it into the outline color first, he didn’t look up at the blond again, but broke the silence. “Have y’ got plans for any more?” Aziraphael could’ve said there was hope in his voice, but he’d probably be lying to himself. “Always love doin’ work for a regular, y’know!”

The florist bit his tongue, and shook his head sadly. He couldn’t dare bring himself to cover another piece of his body out of sheer pining, and wasn’t sure he’d be able to afford another tattoo for a long time after anyways, with how much he’s been shelling out just to spend time here. Not to mention, he was running out of flowers.

You see, every time Aziraphael got a new addition, they weren’t just any old flower. They all had _meaning_. A gloxinia on his shoulder- love at first sight. A yellow iris for the passion he felt, a bundle of lavender heather for admiration and beauty he saw within the artist, red chrysanthemum for the love in which Anthony filled his heart with, even so daring lately as to ranunculus to directly tell his beloved artist “You are charming/attractive”, and most recently, a tulip as a declaration of his feelings. He didn’t quite have many more in his expansive knowledge to keep this up any longer, and so he shook his head again. “No, not probably for a long while.”

Anthony pouted, but masked it behind focusing on starting up the tattoo machine and dipping it into the well of his choice, leaning over Aziraphael’s arm now to hide his disappointment. They were quiet, for a while, before beginning to chat about meaningless things, dancing this dance around the elephant in the room as Anthony tenderly inked the last floret into his arm, relishing in every rest of the hand over his pulse. Slowly and surely, the final piece came together into its full beauty after about an hour or so (which could’ve really been done in 30-45 minutes, but Anthony wanted to make sure he was doing it _perfectly_).

“There we are,” Anthony said with some sense of finality in his voice, smiling at his completed sleeve, but it held no mirth. “Take a look.”

Aziraphael gandered over the new addition, admiring how it finished off the sleeve perfectly. He was always amazed whenever Anthony finished a flower, no matter how many times he’d done it. The artist just had a way of making things even more beautiful than you’d ever imagined them.

“It’s _stunning,_ my dear,” Aziraphael breathed, tears prickling at his eyes as he spoke. “I am going to treasure it, treasure them all, for a lifetime.”

Anthony returned the machine to its resting place, oh-so-gently taping the gauze in place and masking the newest creation. He then discarded his gloves and downright dared to place his bare fingers over the bandages. “I don’t like this,” he admitted, an embarrassed look on his face as he stared into Aziraphael’s pale blue irises. “It feels like we’re saying goodbye, I mean, we’re just next door, yeah?”

Aziraphael swallowed his fears and allowed his own hand to envelope Anthony’s, the skin-on-skin contact searing him at every point where one met the other. “A sweet pea,” he confessed, squeezing the slender hand in his own as they lie atop the bandaged fresh ink. “Is symbolic of departure, after a good time. A thank you, and farewell flower.” He chucked quietly as Anthony’s chipped, black painted nails gently scraped across his hand, the man staring at him with the same awe Aziraphael often found himself oogling at _him_ with. “So, my dear, I guess in a way, I suppose it is.”

Anthony tore his eyes from the blond’s suddenly, leaning back and squinting as he examined all of Aziraphael’s exposed ink, all of his own work, tracing over all the familiar lines once again with his eyes. “…Do they all have a meaning?”

The florist swallowed thickly; man, he really should’ve been expecting that question, but he was definitively Not™. Aziraphael pulled back his hand off of Anthony’s, using it instead to wipe a bead of sweat off of his forehead, nervously straightening his collar in avoidance. When Anthony slid his hand down from Aziraphael’s wrist and into his left hand encouragingly, however, he was simply a goner. He could never refuse.

“Yes,” he exhaled, hand stilling in the tattoo artist’s. “They all do, they’re some of my favorites. All very… Meaningful, yes.”

Aziraphael anxiously muttered small explanations for all of the works he’d had Anthony do over the past 9 months, free hand drifting down his left arm in gesture, touching each design under his sleeve as he talked, the whole while refusing to make eye contact with the artist any longer. He stumbled over his words as he worked further and further down the arm, becoming increasingly more aware of Anthony’s silence the longer he rambled. Increasingly warm in the cheeks, increasingly sweaty in the man’s slender palm. Increasingly all the things that made Aziraphael panic.

“And… Well, they’re all for you, my dear,” Aziraphael drew his left hand away as well, felling the chill bristle his palm in the absence of those spindly fingers. He knit his now-empty hand with his own, resting them across his stomach and twiddling his thumbs just to move _something_. “Always have been. And now here, they always will.”

There was a painful silence, only the buzz of Anthony’s coworkers diligently inking their own clients filling it in the background. It could’ve been miles away, though, because all Aziraphael could hear was the thumping in his own ears. That is, of course, until a jarring sniffle ripped him right back into the present and tore his attention back to the man sitting beside him. “Sorry, sorry,” Anthony choked out, squeezing the armrest with one hand as he roughly rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his other. “I-It’s just, I wasn’t expecting that, was all.”

Aziraphael smiled sadly, wanting so desperately to cradle the redhead’s face in his hands and kiss every tear away from those beautiful angular cheeks, but knowing now that it would be overstepping a major boundary. “Y-Yeah,” he sighed, squeezing his own fingers tighter to keep them right where they were. “I’m sorry, I understand that’s a bit… Much, but it can also be interpreted as just a beautiful bouquet, a breathtaking collection of flowers, as I am a florist,” Aziraphael blundered on, before he was silenced by Anthony’s thin and scraggly fingers so desperately grasping onto his jaw, fervently placing a firm kiss on the man’s plush cheek.

“Stop,” he begged, pressing his sharp nose against Aziraphael’s face, letting a tear splatter off his cheek and wet the florist’s as well as he nuzzled in. “Please. Let me tell my side.”

The blond man was frozen, muscles so tight he wondered if his heart and lungs even bothered to work anymore. He was so in shock, so flabbergasted at the sudden tenderness, that he couldn’t move, much less form a sentence. “Nh, mmhm!” He spluttered out, making a rigid nod in Anthony’s direction to allow him to go on.

Sniveling, the artist wiped his eyes once more, leaning back to give Aziraphael a bit of room to breathe. “I… Hidden meanings, huh,” he mused, laughing half heartedly at himself, before howling and clutching his stomach. “Oh, my flower, we are so alike.”

Anthony looked Aziraphael in the eye once more, reaching out and breaking his nervous hands and taking them within his own. “I… I love astronomy,” he said suddenly, squeezing the soft fingers once before breathing out a shuttered breath. He tore one away to point to his neck, his forearm, just behind his ear; they were littered with blackout skin with the only white spots being constellations, moons, planets, faded blues and purples fighting their way into what at first had seemed to be straight black. “Absolutely smitten with it, flower. The stars, the galaxies…” He waved the free hand, stopping himself, before returning it to where it belonged: in Aziraphael’s. “’Zira, I… I’ve been putting them on you, in the negative space. My favorite constellations,” he moved Aziraphael’s right hand and shadowed it in his own, tracing over the lines of empty skin; the free space between where one flower ended before the next flower began. “Perseus,” he said quietly, choking on the word as it escaped his throat. “And Andromeda,” he gently traced Aziraphael’s forefinger between the chrysanthemum, ranunculus and heather bundle, a gentle smile on his face. “They were the first _star-crossed_ lovers, they fought to the ends of the earth for each other and finally found each other in the stars.” Anthony brought their joined hands to rest on the bandage once more, staring at it with those beautiful honey eyes Aziraphael would now gladly stare into for the rest of time. “A shooting star, around this one,” he said, biting his lower lip. “A wish for more.”

The florist was the one with a stray tear scrambling down his cheek now, and it found itself stopped beneath Anthony’s chapped lips. “Your time means so much to me,” the artist confessed, replacing only a few inches between them as he drew away. “But I am selfish, and I wish for more.”

Aziraphael finally moved, doing exactly as he so longingly yearned for all this time, and cupped Anthony’s cheeks as he dipped his head forward to crash their lips together. He felt a stray tear wetten their noses, but it was impossible to tell whose eyes it came from. “My dear,” the florist mumbled into the embrace, breaking his lips away and allowing their foreheads to rest against one another. “My beautiful darling Anthony,” he breathed out, the happiest smile of his life playing across his lips, “You may have as much of my time as you could ever want.”

Anthony cracked once again, grinding his teeth and burying his face into his beloved client’s neck, carful not to disturb his open wound in doing so. “Thank you,” he whispered against the soft skin between Aziraphael’s chin and collarbone, placing a tender peck there after the words. “Thank you, Aziraphael, I cannot describe to you how much our time together means to me.”

The blond smiled brilliantly, excavating his beloved’s face from himself and holding it where he could see those beautiful features he loved so much, even if they were tear stained and red and splotchy. “And perhaps, next time we meet, I won’t have to call and make an appointment…?”

Anthony chuckled quietly, shaking his head within the florist’s lovely hands. “No,” he laughed in amazement his flower’s wise crack, surging forward to kiss those supple lips once more. “No you will not.”

**Author's Note:**

> HHHHHHHH THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SO MUCH SHORTER AND ACTUALLY LOOKED OVER BUT IT WAS NEITHER OF THOSE THINGS,,,,


End file.
